The Mad People
by SisterGrimmErin
Summary: In the summertime, the song sings itself, and mischief finds respectability.


**The Mad People****  
By Sister Grimm Erin and Neko Kuroban  
Chapter I:  
The Web**

"_The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"_

— Jack Kerouac

Sandra Icarion did not believe in fate.

If she had been a more romantic girl (or at least one less adamant about being in control of her own future), she would have believed that it was destiny that had brought her and her friends together. An outsider would be flummoxed by the closeness they shared, confused by the shape taken by the cloth woven of the ties they had forged.

There was little that the group of young teenagers had in common — not social class, not upbringing, not appearance. They had been born scattered across the country without even the common bonds forced by school or childhood play.

Only one characteristic bound them together: all of them had been born at the wrong time in the wrong place to the wrong people.

At Sandra's right sat her half-brother, Lee. The brunette boy was often referred to as _Saint Lee_. Sandra had more than once been required to explain that it wasn't in mockery or insult (unless _Saint Lee_ suddenly twisted into _Virgin Lee_ or _High Holy Virgin Martyr Saint Lee_, which only happened when her friends were feeling particularly petulant): Lee genuinely _was _that pure-hearted. When she had first met him, she had been wary of his strange aura of innocence, and she had waited for the moment when his constant affability slipped to reveal his true self underneath.

She had quickly come to realize that it was far from a charade.

Lee's natural inclination was to try to be all things to all people. He recognized needs within others that they failed to recognize in themselves. With Lee, friendship was nothing like her relationships with her school friends. Instead, it was thousands of small, simple things — making dinner, bailing friends out of trouble, making balms for the wounded — rather than one ordeal after ordeal. When emotions were tangled and muddled, he was always willing to listen instead of to judge. No matter what, he was ready to be there when the chips were scattered and lost, always prepared to hand the pieces back to you one by one.

Beside Lee was Charles Beckendorf, a broad-shouldered, muscular mechanic. Even by mortal standards, he was something of a prodigy — not many men twice or even three times his age could match his abilities. His yellow-brown eyes, a distinct smoky topaz color (lighter than the liquid honey Sandra's own resembled), stood out brightly in contrast to his mahogany-colored skin and close-cropped black hair.

He seemed composed and dignified, but Sandra knew that his disciplined — sometimes even brusque — exterior hid a flexible, even-tempered nature. He could be curt, but he was the most reliable, determined person she knew. He was not blinded by emotion like others (_Jack and Luke_, she thought uncharitably — but not without a certain amount of fondness for _her boys_) could be, although some (_again: Jack and Luke_) criticized him as lacking imagination. Rarely did he let the fear of what others thought stop him from doing something, and he handled problems without creating more stress. A situation arose, he would consider the paths that could be taken, and he would make his decision.

Sandra envied that ability.

Clad in a summer-weight dress, a floral confection held up only by silk ribbons around her neck, Silena Beauregard was eye-catching. It was not only the simple perfection of her almond-shaped brown eyes, full lips, and luminous olive skin. Her loveliness was only increased by her knowledge of and security in the fact that she was beautiful.

It would be easy to dismiss a girl like her. It would be simple for someone to assume that Silena was nothing more than one of the helpless, dependent pretty girls, buoyed by artificial confidence and dreams of designer goods. The truth was that Silena was far from that image of affected femininity. Perceptive and outgoing, she was as generous with her heart as she was with her smile.

Hair falling over one shoulder, she appeared poised and alert, even when relaxed. Her long, sinuous legs were entwined with one another, and one high-heeled sandal was all but falling off of her foot. She had situated herself, nubile body attuned to them both, between Beckendorf and the most exasperating member of their group.

Luke Castellan resembled nothing so much as an angel, Sandra mused as she stole a glance over at him. _Admittedly, a broken, demented angel_, she added to herself. _But what can you do?_ The white-blonde boy was beautiful — almost painfully so! — and he possessed some intangible magnetic quality. It was greater than charisma or charm: he was _compelling_. Eyes flickered to him when he stepped into a room. A single word from him could leave someone feeling validated or empowered, and his ideas were always grand and lurid. Hypnotic and vibrant, he demanded full attention.

He claimed to have outlived enthusiasm, but, in that moment, it seemed impossible. His body language was loose but refined and elegant — shoulders relaxed, one leg drawn to his chest, one arm wrapped loosely around his knee. His eyes were mischievous, his grin amused and self-indulgent.

Years from now, she will remember his smile and wonder: How had none of them realized that it was nothing more than a pantomime put on by a skilled actor who disarmed them all with his charm and beauty? How had they missed the pain in his eyes?

On Sandra's left, one hand idly playing with her red curls, was an artist who viewed himself as something of a shaman rather than what he really was: a flawed teenage boy who failed to realize that he did not need drugs to reveal the half-truths he saw in the world. Jack Lyndon was studying Luke, his green gaze like embers about to burst into flame.

"A road trip?" Jack repeated, his interest apparent. The two boys were close friends (best friends, or so Sandra believed), but it often came across that they had once been something more. An intimacy, both physical and emotional, charged their interactions, and they seemed to feed off of one another, each inflamed by the other's ideas. "Seriously?"

A mischievous smile overtook Silena's face. The daughter of Aphrodite ran her palm down over the skirt of her dress until the manicured tips of her fingers were resting on her bared knee. "You _know_," she began coyly as she traced an idle circle with a deft flick of her wrist. "It is entirely possible that I have access to _something_..."

"Go back and stop." Beckendorf held up both broad hands, palms out, in a universal 'halt' gesture. "I don't care how cute you think that beast is. It's terrible in the rain, and it's three years older than any of us are. It's honestly not worth the parts it needs, let alone the time and effort it'll take to get it up and running—"

A slow smirk crept across Silena's face as she leaned forward. Her tongue darted out to moisten her full bottom lip. Her even, pearl-like front teeth immediately followed. "_Charlie_..." She began impishly.

Sandra glanced at Luke to gauge his reaction to this. Rather than looking at all offended, he grinned and elbowed Jack in the ribcage. The two boys met eyes and exchanged a wordless smirk, their own private language.

It was obvious that this was not a fight Beckendorf would win, even at his most valiant. Silena was difficult, if not impossible, to resist when she put her mind to persuading someone of her will. The dark-haired girl slowly intertwined her long, fine fingers with Beckendorf's and squeezed, applying gentle pressure. She tilted her head to the side, her face at once inquisitive and pleading.

"_Please_...?" She let the word trail off, rising into a question.

The young man made the mistake of looking at her.

The moment he did, her chocolate-colored eyes brightened with excitement. An instant later, her slight pout was swept away and replaced by a devious, knowing look.

Lee could always be counted on to intervene in situations such as this. He cleared his throat discreetly. "Could you get it to run?"

Beckendorf finally managed to tear his eyes away from Silena. "Oh, it _runs_," he assured him, his tone dismissive. "Just not well. I wouldn't trust it."

"_Que sera sera_." Luke tilted his head to the side. After a moment, he smiled, but the expression was swift and fleeting. "It won't be the first time I've trusted something only to have it die on me. It probably won't be the last."

Lee threw the blonde boy a concerned look, but Jack laughed darkly, and, after a moment, Sandra joined in, able to find the bleak humor in Luke's statement. Silena giggled — more of a nervous titter than any true laugh — and brought her hand up to her mouth as if to hide it. Beckendorf shook his head.

When the moment passed, Silena cleared her throat. She smoothed things over with her polished 'hostess' voice, bright and warm. She came across as a little over-animated, perhaps trying to brush away the awkwardness the same way she would dust off her skirt. "It's settled, then!" She chirped. "Let's get packing!"

"You're not being reasonable," Sandra chastised, her eyebrows drawing together in consternation. She genuinely liked Silena, but, in her eyes, the brunette seemed clueless to the way the world actually worked. "There's practical things to take into consideration. How are we going to _pay _for a cross-country road trip?"

Silena flushed, two spots of color rising high in her bronzed cheeks — the way they always did when the issue of money was raised. "Well," she began as if reluctant to discuss the issue. "I have some money saved up, and I _do _have a credit card. I could probably get my—"

"No."

"Luke, you haven't even heard—"

"Whatever you're about to suggest: no. Your fathers hate me enough, 'Lena. Let's not leave a paper trail."

Beckendorf coughed into his fist, an unnecessary, loud gesture to divert attention from the two and to himself. "Let's see how much each of us have saved up, yeah? I have around five thousand dollars in liquid." His mechanical skills promised that he would almost always have a steady flow of money.

Lee smiled sheepishly. "I have some left from work and my Habitat stipend."

Lee's (seemingly endless) patience served him well at his after-school job. In addition, he had spent the two and a half weeks of his spring break in Trinidad and Tobago, volunteering with Habitat for Humanity under the Caribbean sun. Before he boarded the southbound plane, his grandfather had pulled him to the side and wordlessly handed him the equivalent of five hundred U.S. dollars in the local currency. Lee's grandparents, who had been children during the Depression, erred on the cheap side of frugality; he had understood that for his grandfather, the gesture was the equivalent of hiring a sky-writer to spell out a farewell. When the youth had returned to the country, he had simply deposited the cash into his checking account — most of it untouched.

"Because you didn't spend any of it," Sandra interjected teasingly.

Lee's smile adopted a slightly self-effacing quality. He reached up to rub his left ear. "I gave some of it away," he corrected. "You guys know that five hundred American dollars is almost four thousand TTD, right? I bought souvenirs for my grandparents and presents for you all, and that was all I needed. It was Carnival time, but I wasn't there to shop or to party. When I converted what was leftover back, I handled it just as I do with the money I make working retail. I donated a third, saved a third, and I'm free to spend the rest."

Jack summed it up in a single word: "Lame."

Luke agreed with him. "You have to admit it. That's lame even for you, Saint Lee."

"It's called responsibility," Lee answered flippantly, but there was no condemnation, hint of reprimand, or even judgment in his voice. "The two of you might be ready to try it one day."

When Jack flipped him off, Sandra hid her smile.

"Maybe when you're thirty," Lee added, tone still mild.

At this, Beckendorf snorted, not bothering to conceal his amusement, and Silena grinned.

Luke flashed a languid, indolent smile. "So how much do you have that you can spend?"

Lee named a figure in the hundreds. When her turn came around, Sandra was forced to admit a similar number. Silena's bank account had a cool thousand for spending at camp, and she had not spent any of it on frivolties.

Realizing his friends were looking at him, Luke shrugged, a graceful, effortless motion. "I have just south of two thousand dollars." He offered no further explanation.

Their pool was floating around eight thousand when Jack spoke up. "I have a credit card with no limit — you know, Texan guilt gift BS. Who's up for draining the bank account of an evangelical hypocrite with no financial skills?"

Any other concerns were immediately wiped to the side.

"Well?" He prompted after the surprised silence had lasted more than a moment. "What do you say?"

"Where first?" Luke asked immediately.

Jack eyed him conspiratorially. "New York City," he answered, and the blonde nodded.

"What better way to break the old man?" He mused aloud. In a single motion, he rose to his feet. "All right!" He announced. "Time to pack. _Lightly_," he added, emphasizing the word for Silena's benefit. "We'll shop once we're there. Bring money just in case. Meet back here in an hour."

The web was fragile, yes. It changed; it shifted; it rearranged. It expanded and contracted, it grew and shrank — but it did not break.

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